I don’t remember the first time I saw you. I do remember noticing that you were always looking at me from across the room. It’s funny; you thought I was the one always looking at you. When we first hung out I was so nervous. You talked so much, hanging over my shoulder like that. I thought I was being really talkative too…I was just shy. I didn’t know you, even though we had spent a whole semester in a class together. You always stood out because you seemed like one of the more intelligent ones in the class.
At first you were very sweet. You’d tell me how you wanted to take to me to this place and that place, have a romantic getaway weekend, just the two of us. We were like an old married couple with our TV nights and predictable routine. We never went out on dates; we just went straight to the honeymoon period. We were so happy then. It was as if you couldn’t spend enough time with me. The day it all ended slipped by unnoticed. Instead, one day I opened my eyes and realized the honeymoon period had been over for some time, I didn’t know for sure how long. I tried to think back, to pinpoint it, to see if by finding the day it died I could somehow resurrect it. You see, I wasn’t willing to give up just then. Following the threads of discontent back into our time together, they began to converge on those particular two weeks in summer.
“Just so you know, Amanda is going to be visiting next month.”
“Oh, really? Which one is she again?”
I didn’t need to ask. I knew. She was the one that got away. The ghost I had been competing with since the very beginning. I practically had to debate you just to get you to make us a real couple. That should have been a sign. I ignored it of course, as young people always do. I wanted more than that. You had potential. You were more intelligent, more driven than the other guys I had dated. I respected that in you. . I could live with the ghost. I could make you forget her. I really believed that.
“She’s the one that left after junior year. Moved away.”
“Oh ya, I remember.”
“You better be nice to her.”
“Oh come on I’m always nice.”
You had raised your eyebrow at me, but I promised to be nice. At that time I wasn’t feeling very threatened by her. Of course, I’d never seen you with her.
I remember when I first met her. I got off work after a long day starting at 6 in the morning and went to visit you at your house. What was she doing there? You didn’t even tell me she was going to come over. Apparently you had gone and picked her up. Of course, she didn’t have her car with her. I hadn’t liked the idea of her riding in my place. When the three of us went downtown that night, I half expected her to try to make me sit in the backseat. That’s a different story. This particular afternoon however, I was caught off-guard.
I was tired and sweaty in my hideous yellow polo, unflattering cheap khakis and black running shoes with holes over each big toe. My hair was tied into its customary tight ponytail while hers was blonde, teased, curled and held stiff with a whole can of hairspray. She had on enough makeup to walk the red carpet, a spray tan worthy of a “Dancing with the Stars” contestant and so much gaudy jewelry over her orange sundress I thought it’d pull her straight to the ground. Being a woman, I knew the tricks of the trade and was not fooled by the costume. I could see she was not the perfect ten you had described her as, unless you counted all the fake accoutrements, which I don’t.
You were all outside playing with the dogs. Usually falling over themselves to greet me as I got home, today they were preoccupied with the newcomer.
“Hi. I like your dress.”
“Thanks.”
I tried my best to be friendly. It was weird having her there, in “my” house with us. I had been there every day, while she was just taking up space, like the blonde elephant in the room. I spoke to her as I would anyone else, joking around and making conversation as I should. Maybe I came off a little too sarcastic. I can do that sometimes. I’m not a mean person. I didn’t make fun of her at all. I thought by joking around and making fun of you we could bond and she would laugh along. She didn’t find me funny. She just sat there, her huge tote on the floor at her feet, iPhone in hand, looking bored. I felt like an unwanted guest in my own home.
I didn’t see you much that week. At the time, I didn’t think too much of it, distracted as I was by my miserable job catering to stuck up old ladies so it didn’t really bother me until you texted me in the middle of the day to tell me she was coming with you to get your hair cut and then the two of you were going to a party in the hills at nine.
“I should get off work at nine. Wait for me.”
“I can’t. I don’t know how to get there and the people I’m going with want to leave then. If I wait for you I won’t be able to go to the party.”
I tried to convince you to wait. I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t want me there. I kept thinking surely you’d see how upset I was and change your mind. Silly me.
“I’ll just meet you up there.”
“You won’t be able to find it. I’ve lived here all my life and I probably would have a tough time.”
“Then go up there and give me directions.”
“There’s too many turns and no signs. You wouldn’t be able to find it. I won’t have any service anyway.”
“Fine.”
I ended up alone and disappointed watching TV in the house where I rented a bedroom twenty miles out of town. I hadn’t needed to buy my car or rent a room. I could’ve gone home for the summer where I actually had friends and my family (who probably would’ve annoyed me to no end anyway, probably better I didn’t go home). I decided to stay and give our brand new relationship a fighting chance instead.
You spent more time with her than me that week. That wasn’t unusual. It made sense. You hadn’t seen her in six months, you guys used to be really close, you had a lot of catching up to do, etc. Besides, I was working forty hours a week and you saw me all the time. Nothing special.
By the end of her visit the two of you were fighting. I don’t know what words had been said, but you saw her one last time that afternoon and off she went, back to Alaska. I went over to your house and all night you were sullen and short-tempered. I hadn’t seen you that upset in a long time, maybe never.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing? Something is obviously wrong.”
“Nothing. Just Amanda is mad at me. She left on… bad terms.”
“Okay… Why is she mad?”
“Nothing she just gets like this.”
“She just randomly gets mad at you for no reason?”
I couldn’t get any explanation out of you. You were too cryptic and upset. You didn’t dare betray her trust and tell me anything more about her, her history, her background, her life. I couldn’t see why her being mad at you would affect you this way. I had no idea, no theory, no context within which to fit this all together.
“I’m your girlfriend. You are supposed to tell me things that make you this upset. You have to tell me something.”
That finally got some kind of a response out of you. You weren’t used to having a girlfriend to talk to about anything. You apologized and tried to explain that she had done this before. You would get close to her and try to help her, but she’d always freeze you out before you got too close and withdraw back into her cold, mean shell (was it an abusive boyfriend? jealous ex? family troubles?). She’d do this to you; you, who used to know her better than anyone. I tried to be empathetic and understanding. It made sense, but I had been under the impression that you two weren’t very close anymore, that all of that was in the past, back in high school where it belonged.
After she left, I expected things to go back to normal. On one level I think they did. The day to day routine resumed and life seemed to go on as usual. I hadn’t noticed it then, but something had changed. I was too distracted by work to notice the subtle difference.
It wasn’t until later that I realized why.
You didn’t think I would figure it out would you? You didn’t think anyone would tell me… and now here you are. It’s so strange seeing you like this. Tell me…was it worth it?
We had a lot going for us you know. I was the best girlfriend you ever had. You told me that once. It wasn’t enough though. You loved me out of obligation and the sense that you were indebted to me for how much I loved you.
It was your brother who told me, you know. I think he took pity on me. He always was kinder than you.
I didn’t go to your funeral. I thought about it, but I couldn’t bear to chance having to see her there, crying over your casket as if she had been your widow. I heard she did go, and she did cry. I imagine her hair was teased, curled and sprayed to stiffness, crocodile tears falling from waterproof-mascara framed eyes. But she didn’t cry on your casket. She didn’t act like she was your widow. She never loved you as much as I did. You were nothing to her, just as I was nothing to you. You thought I didn’t know what you did with her. You thought I would never find out. I did though. I knew your secret. And here’s my little secret… the car crash was no accident.
